


Ron's Pants.

by fannish_bunni



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crossdressing, First Time, Kink, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-29
Updated: 2011-06-29
Packaged: 2017-10-20 20:43:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/216910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fannish_bunni/pseuds/fannish_bunni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It started with silk boxers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ron's Pants.

**Author's Note:**

> Many many thanks to [](http://www.livejournal.com/users/shes_gone/profile)[**shes_gone**](http://www.livejournal.com/users/shes_gone/)  for the beta and leaving me such lovely comments! Without her this would make a lot less sense.

It started with silk boxers because of a painful fall and a curse in a certain area that needed delicate treatment, afterwards.

It seemed like a good idea at the time.

Then I just couldn't stop wearing them.

I bought some in every colour they had.

And then I saw some cami-kickers in a lingerie shop window and my mouth went dry.

Fuck if I knew why.

It was just the silk. And there was lace. I wanted to know what the lace felt like.

Kind of scratchy as it turned out. But nice.

Then I bought some thongs.

They're tighter in certain areas.

And fuck if that didn't turn me on.

Guess I really am a pervert.

But I only wear the thongs when I've got a day off. Couldn't go around all day with a stiffy, after all. I have to take three wank breaks as it is.

Makes me almost glad I don't live with Harry anymore.

First wank of the day is as soon as I wake up, of course. Day off. Morning wank. Nothing better. Well, nothing better when you're single. While I'm jerking off I think about my drawer full of silk and lace.

Guess I'm a bit of a weirdo. But I'm okay with that. Nobody's perfect.

I ration the rest of the wanks out. One in the pink silk thong (Yeah, pink. Want to make something of it?) after breakfast. I make myself sit at the dining table and read the entire Saturday paper with them pressing against my bits.

I'll occasionally shift in my seat and have to close my eyes at the sensation of silk against my cock. I'm not allowed to touch myself 'til I've read the Quidditch section at the back of the paper. Then while I wank I'm not allowed to move out of my chair.

I don't know why I've got all the rules. I just follow them. Feels good. It's all about what feels good.

I like to rub myself through the pink ones. I don't take them off. Of course I don't completely fit in them. They are women's pants, after all.

But somehow that makes it hotter. To see myself straining against the silk, my cock poking out the side.

So I rub myself through the material until I'm leaning on the table and there's a big wet patch on the silk and they're all ruined. (But I have got bloody brilliant at the cleaning spells so they're probably not really ruined.)

So I have to take them off and shower and then put on the orange silk-and-lace ones. (Yes, canons orange if you must know. They're lucky pants, alright!) I have a slouch about in the orange ones and wear them all afternoon.

I listen to the Quidditch on the wireless in them.

I clean the flat in them.

Do my laundry in them.

And I drive myself half out of my mind with the way the lace thong slowly goes right between my cheeks and the silk panel at the front pulls and shifts against my cock.

It's just. You have to try it.

I think it's the tease with that one. Making myself wait for it.

But I've got to go out Saturday night. (Everyone goes out Saturday night. Only boring bastards stay in. Or so Seamus assures me.) So I have to wank before I go, or I'll just explode while I'm sat there at the table with all my mates. The first time the thong brushes my hole or presses against my bits, I'll just explode and come with a fucking scream on my lips right there in front of everybody.

I half like that idea.

Today I wank slowly while I think about it. So fucking slowly. One hand on my cock that's now poking out above the pushed down panties. Two fingers up my arse.

No. Fuck. Three. Three fingers up there. And I have. I have long. Long fingers.

Fuck.

I could almost just lie here all evening. That has to be the best one. The best wank yet.

So intense after making myself wait all afternoon for it. And when I touch that spot inside it's like fireworks.

If it wasn't for the fact that I knew Harry would come looking for me, I'd stay here. Just let myself fall asleep on the sofa, all covered in come and wearing orange silk-and-lace women's knickers.

That thought gets me up off the sofa and showering and changing.

But yeah. There's still the third pair. The third pair of the day.

Every Saturday I tell myself this is idiotic. It's stupid. I tell myself to put on boxers and act like a normal person.

But I'm not and I don't.

I put on the black silk thong.

Just gorgeous.

They almost make me hard just looking at them. If it wasn't for the fact that I'd wanked three times already today I'd be hard all the time I wore them.

But hey. I did wank three times today didn't I? I can wear them and feel good without getting a hard on.

Yeah. Right.

So it's black silk thong. Jeans. Shirt. Trainers. Pub.

It seems like Seamus is on a mission tonight. Wants us all completely pissed for some reason. Though Harry probably could do with a bit of relaxing. Neville never stands the pace for long, though. About ten o'clock he makes his usual excuse and goes home to Luna. That leaves a very drunk Dean, a suspiciously-not-as-drunk-as-us Seamus, and me and Harry.

Seamus tries to convince us to go on to a night club and just as I'm constructing my counter argument in my head Harry downs his drink and we're off. Apparently.

We're off to a night club.

This sort of ruins my plans. Because I can handle being in black silk and sat down drunk in a pub.

Not sure if I can handle moving about in them in a nightclub.

I usually go straight home. Even then I'm wanking almost as soon as the door's locked.

Pathetic maybe. But fucking satisfying.

Not as satisfying as fucking.

Not as satisfying as getting fucked by Harry would be.

Fuck.

That's a fucking stupid thing to be thinking. It was watching Harry's jeans-clad arse walk up the stairs into the nightclub that did it. That and the sensation of a black silk thong sliding in between my arse cheeks and pulling at my cock.

I try not to think about Harry mouthing at my cock through the silk as he presses his thumb up against my hole.

His thumb. Merlin. I'm lost. I'm drunk and in women's pants and fantasising about my best mate sucking me off while he sticks his fingers up my arse. This is not good.

I mumble something about finding a bathroom and leave the guys to find a table.

All I need is two minutes alone.

In fact one minute would probably do it.

I fumble with the lock on the cubicle door, sit down on the closed lid of the toilet, and shut my eyes.

I'm so fucking hard by now that the jeans nearly unzip themselves once I undo the button.

I'm just rubbing myself through the silk when the door opens and I swear loudly. Fuck. Must not have locked the door properly.

"Ron!" - and fuck, wouldn't it have to be Harry – "Sorry I-"

What the bloody hell is he doing, following me into the toilet?

I hold my breath for the laughter. When it doesn't come I open my eyes and Harry is still standing there. Mouth open. Luckily the cubicle door is shut behind him. He's leaning against it. Looks like he might fall over if he wasn't.

Then I think he has fallen over but he's just sinking to his knees in front of me.

If I could hold my breath more, I would do.

"Is that? Are those?" Harry says, his voice all soft. Not mocking or disgusted.

I take a breath. It was either that or pass out. But that makes my whole chest heave and my cock gives a tiny little movement against the silk and I close my eyes again.

"Harry. I just-"

Then Harry puts his hand out and touches the pants. Touches my black silk covered cock. Well, most of it's covered. They don't really cover that well and I'm just about to adjust myself to try and regain a bit of dignity, or to push Harry away. Or to well, something.

Then Harry strokes me through the silk of the knickers.

I'm barely holding it together as it is. I'm drunk and horny and the object of my sexual fantasy has just touched my cock.

“Fuck,” I say, biting my bottom lip in an attempt to stop myself from coming.

“Ron,” Harry says, his voice all hoarse and deep. He strokes my cock once more, running his thumb against the head that's poking out the side of the pants, and that does it. I'm coming my brains out. I white out for a moment and when I come to, I realise I'm leaning against Harry and his hand and my jeans are covered in come.

“I'm sorry,” I mutter. “I'm sorry, I- you-”

I turn bright red and can't meet his eyes. Because it wasn't bloody embarrassing enough to be found wearing women's pants. I had to come in two seconds flat as well. But Harry just pulls me to my feet.

“Your place. Now.”

If I hadn't just come I'd be hard again. I swear. Just from the tone of his voice.

Harry apparates us back to my flat and before I know what's going on my clothes have been banished and he's leaning me over the kitchen table. I groan and grab hold of the opposite edge of the table with both hands, my chest flat against the wooden table top.

“Ron?”

“Please, Harry. Please, I need- I need-”

But I can't say it. I can't say 'I need your cock inside me right now before I go crazy'. But luckily I don't need to.

Harry's leaning over me. Pressing the head of his cock against my hole. I groan as he pushes slowly forwards. But I'm so ready for him.

So ready.

Then he's all the way in and I'm breathing raggedly, glad I've got the table to hold on to. To hold me down. Hold me together and stop me flying away.

Harry's balls deep in me now and it feels so good I could stay here forever. Then he begins to thrust and I think I yell. I'm not really sure. I've come so many times today that I can't get hard again, but it still feels bloody brilliant.

Then he gets the angle exactly right. Hits just the right spot inside me.

“Fuck.”

I don't move. I don't even breathe.

“Fuck. Harry.” Exactly the right spot. “So fucking good.”

Then I feel Harry come inside me, shaking and swearing behind me, and it feels like I'm coming again. Only I'm not.

Feels weird. Good. But weird.

Trust Harry to make me do things I've never even heard of before.

I drift away for a bit until Harry peels my death grip off the table and leads me away. I get as far as the sofa before collapsing in a messy sweaty heap, pulling Harry on top of me. I let out a huff as he accidentally elbows me before we get comfy, our legs tangled happily together.

Harry can't stop smiling. I love that I put that look on his face.

“You like me in the knickers then?” I ask with a grin.

“Mmm? Oh. They're okay,” Harry says with a non-committal shrug.

“So you don't have a thing for blokes in women's pants?” I say nervously.

“Not really.”

“Oh.”

Then he's looking down at me with those big dark eyes and I can't breathe.

Harry kisses me, and it's only then that I realise we haven't kissed yet.

I can taste Firewhiskey and feel his stubble and I never want to stop.

Eventually we have to pull away, both breathing hard.

Harry licks his lips and grins at me.

“I think I might have a bit of a thing for you though.”

My answering grin is so wide that my face hurts.


End file.
